The Bludgeoning
by SalazarInADress
Summary: 1.5k words of Madam Hooch throwing quidditch supplies at Mr Goyle during the Battle of Hogwarts. A bit cracky, but it's canon to me. xD Warning for naughty words.


Title: The Bludgeoning

Author:SalazarInADress

Prompt: Lovely person from Wandlore asked the group "Can I have a fic where during the Battle at Hogwarts Madam Hooch is in one of the towers tossing bludgers at Death Eaters". I obliged. 1.5k words written in the middle of the night.

Disclaimer: not my characters or world

Author's Note: Warning for naughty words.

oOoOoOoOo

"Call that a hex, Goyle? You couldn't hit a nanny with a broomstick!" Hooch called down. The door below shook as the thick-set man set his shoulder to it like a ram, and the booming sound ricocheted up the stone stairwell. She ignored the sound, having taken refuge here from furious suitors in her student days. That door had never let her down before.

She popped her head over the edge again, if only to infuriate the wizard below. "Great comb-over you got, but you missed a spot at the back!" She crowed, before ducking back as green sparks showered over the window ledge. She pressed her back to the wall. "Have you tried anger management classes?"

"I'll show you fucking anger management," Goyle bellowed, sending another hex flying. "Come down here and fight me, unless you're too scared!"

Hooch rolled her eyes. The truth was, she'd be more than happy to fight him - if she had her wand. He didn't seem to have noticed that she hadn't sent a single spell down, or deflected any of his. Idiot.

With her back to the wall, she surveyed the room for anything she could use. An abandoned sword perhaps, or a javelin or two. Since her student days, she had claimed this little tower as her own, and the contents reflected that. Layers of peeling quidditch posters covered the walls, along with framed signatures. Below those sat old brooms that no longer worked, that she couldn't bring herself to throw away. And a few chests of quidditch balls, of course.

The door shook again, and she felt the vibrations through the floorboards. She needed to do something soon, or Goyle would get exactly the kind of fight he wanted.

She huffed - the things she would do to that man, if only she had a wand!

A few seconds of silence crawled by, and she listened to the more distant fighting. It was impossible to tell who was winning - for all she knew, she was the last one standing. The last pillar of light, straining against the evil intent of- An avada streamed past. Right. Fighting, yes. Time to do some of that.

"Sorry, were you still there?" She shouted. "I was just getting into a good book, and totally forgot about you!"

She ducked and crept away from the windows, towards the brooms at first. If one of them could be persuaded... But no, even without trying, she could feel that they were all just dead wood. She turned to the chests. The bludger chasing enchantments wouldn't work outside of the pitch, but they were still heavy enough to knock out a hippogriff. Especially when thrown from a height. She grinned.

Goyle was still throwing curses at the empty window, so she crept to a ledge to the left. The element of surprise would work in her favour, but she chose instead to shout "Oy, baldy!" before chucking the first ball down. She didn't wait to see where it went, but there was no horrific scream of pain so she assumed she'd missed.

She grabbed a second one and moved to another window. Goyle was looking out for this time, and almost hit her when she showed. With only a second to fortify her nerves, she popped back up and took aim.

The bludger hit the earth to his right, covering him in an explosion of dirt and stones. He almost fell on his arse, but disappointingly managed to stabilise.

"Bloody woman," he growled. "I'm going to kill you. I'd kill your family too, if you had one!"

Hooch stuck her tongue out at him, which almost cost her life but was worth it for the outrage on his face.

The next two bludgers were no closer than the previous. She continued to enrage him with insults, getting her breath back when she could. Bludger number five was knocked out of her hand by a curse, breaking at least two fingers in the process.

"That hurt, you pig-brained tosspot!" She stomped to the nearest chest and picked out the snitch with her good hand, then stepped back to the window. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to hit girls?"

There wasn't room for a decent overarm, but she put as much power as she could into it.

Goyle doubled over with a cry, hands to his face. "My eye! You fucking bitch." He looked up, bad eye still covered, and pointed his wand. "Can't you use spells like a normal bloody witch, or are you a squib now?"

"Better a squib than a troll," she replied.

Buoyed by her success, she picked up the sixth bludger and crept to the window on the far right. It was an awkward angle, but if he couldn't use that eye then he wouldn't see her in time... A-ha, yes! He was still aiming at the centre frame.

She lifted the ball slowly, steadying herself against the stone ledge. Mid-throw, her broken fingers lanced pain up her arm. The spasm threw her aim off a mile, and the ball landed a good six feet away from its target. By now, the usually flat piece of lawn below looked like the surface of the moon.

She cradled her hand and stumbled into the room. Three chests lay open before her, now empty of bludgers. She could use another snitch, or try one of the light quaffles, but in truth she needed something as thick and dense as Goyle's skull in order to break it.

There was only one more chest. "No, no no no no no..." she muttered, "what are you doing in here?" She rushed to it, brushed off the stone dust and ceiling plaster.

She couldn't open this one. It was her baby. Her precious. She had hoped never to use it. Never to so much as contaminate the holy air inside with the musk of Hogwarts.

Despite the urgency of her situation, she took a moment to caress the smooth leather casing. The box jerked at her touch, bludgers desperate to escape their long imprisonment.

With a deep breath for fortitude, she unbuckled the straps and threw open the lid. Inside, the box was pristine. The snitch glimmered in a sea of red velvet. The leather straps were buffed to a shine. There was neither scratch nor scuff on any surface inside. The only marks were writing - signatures, to be precise. Of all the England team from 1927, right after their record- setting win against France for the Seven Nations Cup. Souvenirs of her most prized memory.

With regret, she popped open the lock on the first bludger. It sat inert in its nook. She screwed her eyes almost shut so that she wouldn't have to see her own hands smudging the ink.

Goyle shouted impatiently outside. "Hang on a fucking second," she screeched back. "I'm trying to have a moment, here!"

She brought the ball to her face, relishing the extra weight of a championship bludger. This wasn't some halfmass children's practice set, oh no. With a whispered apology, she returned to her aiming spot and braced against the coming pain.

Goyle saw her this time, but she had already begun to throw. When it was out of her hands, she didn't duck away, in the certainty that her aim was true. She could feel it in the strain of her shoulder.

She watched the trajectory as Goyle's eyes widened in panic. The ball hurtled with frightening speed towards his chest - and then exploded into a million fragments.

Hooch screamed as if it were her chest that had been ripped open. Her hands gripped the ledge as she leaned out to see bludger shards raining onto what remained of the grass. Goyle stood, breathing heavily, with his wand pointing where her beloved had once been. Like a smoking gun, it proved his guilt.

"You bastard, that was Falstad Walsh! You blew up Benedoc McLann, you fucking whale! It can't be replaced!"

"You were trying to kill me with it!" Goyle shouted back.

"A poor excuse, if you ask me! That was a priceless artifact you just destroyed, and don't you tell me you didn't know. Even a man with piss for brains could recognise Ham "The Beater Beater" Smith's highly distinguishable signature when it's about to hit him in the face. I'll have you back, don't you worry. You're going to wish I'd got you with that one, you oafish hoof-handed bloody cretin!"

Before he could gather his wits and realise she'd been a sitting target for the best part of a minute, she retreated to wipe the tears out of her eyes. "There goes your retirement fund, Rolanda," she muttered.

She yanked the last bludger unceremoniously from its place, too angry now for caring. She was beyond gentleness.

She crept to the central window this time, wanting the clearest angle possible for this last shot.

She couldn't let this one miss - it was time for drastic action. Do or die, as it were. Stepping quickly into view, she pointed into the distance behind Goyle. "What's that?" She shouted.

He turned.

The bludger flew true, just like its sister had. Hooch watched with righteous satisfaction as it ploughed straight through the back of the death eater's head. It wasn't pretty, but she had no sympathy for a man who could blow up a bludger without a second thought, merely because it was about to kill him.


End file.
